


Crazy Minds Think Alike

by DemonAngelSakina



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: 1000 Ways to Die (tv show), Aiden (Teen Wolf) Lives, Ask and ye shall receive, Author can't tag to save their life, Bad Science, Chris has the best toys, Derek Hale needs a break, Erica Reyes Lives, Fun Facts, MANswers (tv show), Mythbusters (tv show), Peter Hale totally plays Stardew Valley, Scared Pack, Scott McCall is a goober, Sheriff Stilinski Is So Done, Sheriff Stilinski Knows, Slice of Life, Stiles Peter and Lydia are Science 'Bros', Stiles is Peter's favorite, Stiles making brownies, This is short and stupid crack, Vernon Boyd Lives, and may be drinking buddies with Chris Argent behind the scenes, fight me on this, frozen chickens, reddit, send help, so not tagging any more, there's alot of tv shows being discussed here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:42:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27283627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DemonAngelSakina/pseuds/DemonAngelSakina
Summary: "Can you drown someone in pudding?""Technically, that may count more as 'suffocation', but it could be completely plausible."Or...Stiles is Peter's favorite for a reason. Everyone else wishes otherwise.
Comments: 20
Kudos: 147





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> ***singsong tone*** This...is...crack!!
> 
> Sorry, sorry, but really. I wrote this on my cellphone during a +24 hour blackout that only just ended.  
> Please enjoy the madness.

"Can you drown someone in pudding?"

While that may not have been the weirdest thing to come out of the mouth of one Stiles "No-You-Cannot-Know-My-First-Name" Stilinski, it definitely ranked in the current top ten--at least in the collective opinions of the rest of the reformed Hale Pack.

"Technically, that may count more as 'suffocation', but it could be completely plausible."

And Peter Hale--"Uncle Creeper", the "Dread Zombie Wolf", or whatever the hell the rest of the pack members were calling him this week--had certainly said, and done, far worse than agree with the insanity coming from the hyperactive teenager...

"Why exactly are we discussing this lovely hypothetical scenario?"

But actively encouraging the madness was definitely putting fresh tallies into the "Why Derek Should Rip Peter's Throat Out With His Teeth" column!

As much as no one wanted to...Erica, Boyd, Isaac, Lydia--who was dragging Jackson, who had grabbed onto a now loudly protesting Danny--and Allison--who was dragging an equally protesting Scott, who was doing a passable impression of a cat trying to avoid a bathtub full of water--all slunk over to the doorway into the expansive kitchen of the freshly rebuilt Hale House and peered nervously around the finely hewn wood of the archway frame and into the kitchen at the pair of self-proclaimed 'mad geniuses'...  
Who were sitting at the island--backs to the archway--and patiently waiting on the pans of Stiles' 'famous' butterscotch brownies to finish cooking.

The "Dread Zombie Wolf" in question, set down his magazine--thankfully not the oft-made-joke-by-Erica 'serial killer edition of GQ'--and looked at his fellow 'mad genius' who was on what had to be--based on his average consumption--Stilinski's sixth can of Mountain Dew for the day. Stiles looked at Peter, then shrugged. "Don't know. I was thinking about that show, 1000 Ways To Die, and kinda wondered if it was possible. Be one weird AF obituary though."

"You know...I have heard of that show, but I have never seen it." Peter mused, resting a fist to his chin and giving the teenager a smile so innocent that it could have fooled a priest. "Think that it would inspire me? I do need to keep your father and Argent on their toes, after all."

"Leave my dad alone unless you're making sure he's staying off the red meat and the pork like we agreed you'd do, Creeper Wolf." Stiles deadpanned before taking another swig of his soda. "As for the show...well...let's just say there're some ways to die in that show that I wouldn't mind causing to certain assholes."

 _'Dear God--'_ Was the collective internal whimper of the pack framing the doorway like they were in an episode of Scooby Doo. _'It's worse than we thought.'_

"Ahh...so it would be inspiring. Lovely. I'll look it up tonight."

"Grab your favorite booze and snacks and just binge watch." Stiles said with a grin. "May I also suggest the show MANswers? Gives some interesting info about the real questions of the universe."

"Now THAT one I've heard about. I'm certain that Scott was telling you to stop watching reruns of it online." Peter said with a smirk as he picked up his water bottle. "Something about you 'filling his brain' with things that Melissa would glare at him for knowing?"

"That was only 'cause I was describing just how tiny a woman's bathing suit can actually get before it's an indecent exposure charge and Melissa and my dad just happened to walk into the room at the worst possible moment."

The pack nervously glanced at one another as Stiles somehow managed to steer the conversation back to 1000 Ways to Die--seemingly deliriously happy to give tidbits about a couple of episodes that were sure to get the full attention of the--as Stiles oft-reminded to 'get their terminology straight'--"psychotic with narcissistic tendencies" sitting next to him. Allison just pulled up her crossbow--earning many nods from the pack, save for Boyd who was glancing behind them as Cora wandered up to see what madness was going on today--and loaded a bolt, then took aim.  
The last thing that anyone needed--not just Derek, Chris, or the Sheriff, but the entire world as a whole!--was these two being 'murder-buddies'.

"What are you all doing around this door?" Came the voice of a certain grumpy Alpha--Eyebrows of Doom enhancing the confused glare on his face--as Derek came up behind his betas, tailed by the pack's most recent members, Aiden and Ethan...who looked equally confused on what in the actual fuck that they had walked in on.

The pack--minus the eternally unflappable Boyd--scattered from the archway, drawing the attention of the pair in the kitchen who only turned to stare at the gathered betas as if every last one of them had lost their minds. After a minute of silence, Stiles scowled. "Allison, put the crossbow down. Remember the house rules about murder."

When no one offered up an explanation, Derek looked into the kitchen at Peter and Stiles...only for Peter to smirk at him and pat the teenager next to him on the shoulder. "Dear nephew...Stiles has just informed me of a television show that we should all watch some day."

Derek's eyebrows raised--not fully sure how to take this--before his uncle continued cheerfully. "You know, I do believe that Stiles here is my favorite of your pack. We just have so much in common."

Derek glanced over at Allison. "...You get one shot. Don't hit Stiles."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frozen Chickens + (Bad) Science + Werewolves = Stiles needs to stay off Reddit, Peter needs to stop encouraging the madness, and Derek needs the universe to cut him a freaking break for once.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some fans on Fanfiction dot net requested more, so...here we go!
> 
> Really, I found a pic of the described Reddit post and...I had to do it.  
> Enjoy.

"Peter! I need to poke your brain!"

 _'Oh God, please no.'_ Was the collective thought of the Hale Pack when they overheard the resident Spark and self-proclaimed 'mad genius' calling out for everyone's favorite 'Zombie Wolf', as the hyperactive teen sprinted into the house, through the foyer, and nearly crashing into the living room where the eldest Hale was currently taking up the entirety of the new couch--hand-picked by Lydia, Allison, and Erica...and paid for with Derek's Visa that Cora had 'borrowed' for that particular shopping trip to furnish the rebuilt Hale House--with his own new, and decidedly expensive, laptop.

"And why exactly do you need to 'poke my brain'?" Peter said without even glancing away from playing Stardew Valley on his laptop--his fondness, borderline addiction, for the game being completely Isaac's fault, though he would never blame the curly-haired pup beyond light-hearted teasing. "I am in the middle of trying to reach level 100 of Skull Cavern, if you do not mind."

"Just tell me how fast and hard the average werewolf can slap something."

That finally got the majority of the pack to look away from their teams-version of Mario Party--to the relief of Jackson and Aiden who were losing horribly, and the annoyance of Scott and Isaac who were currently in the lead--and made Boyd put down his book, so that they could focus on what this latest chaos was about. Erica and Cora exchanged confused looks, Danny just shrugged and settled back against Ethan's chest, and Allison looked on curiously as Lydia feigned disinterest in favor of continuing to focus on her 'shopping tablet'.

Peter, on the other hand however, seemed to pause and run Stiles' words through his mind--not even allowing himself to be annoyed for once as his character fell victim to the current bane of his existence in-game, Death by Flying Serpent Swarm. _'There has to be a way to deal with those accursed things...'_

Finally, the werewolf looked up at the teenager practically draped over the back of the couch not unlike a limpet, yet still somehow managing to pull up something on his phone. "Okay, you have my attention."

Without further ado, Stiles grinned--seemingly finding what he had been looking for in his camera roll--and looked back at the momentarily confused wolf. "Okay, so I was on Reddit earlier--excellent site by the way, you should check that out, might get inspired...just leave my dad alone, Uncle Creeper--and there was this thread called No Stupid Questions--with a title like that you know it's gonna be good, and it was--"

"Stiles. What does this have to do with slapping? Preferably explain without going into a tangent about shampoo if possible."

"That was one time, and it was true." Stiles muttered with a roll of his eyes before deciding to get to meat of the matter before he caused the rest of the pack to suffer from a Stiles-induced-whiplash...again. "Anyway...someone asked, and I quote, "If kinetic energy is converted into thermal energy, how hard do I have to slap a chicken to cook it?", end quote."

Everyone save for the second resident 'mad genius' stared at one another--all, even Lydia, still running on confused. Peter, however, nodded--beginning to catch on to where exactly this was going, and quickly sent his character to bed so that he could save his game and exit back to his desktop. "I see. I take it someone must have provided an answer to the question or you would not have yours?"

"You got it." Stiles grinned--eyes alight with either crazed excitement...or his control on his magic was slipping for a brief moment. "An actual physics major did. Used the whole formula, set in the variables--you know, like, average human hand weight and slap velocity, average rotisserie chicken weight and heat capacity, temperature that the tasty yard bird meat needs to be at to consider it cooked and ready to eat, and all that jazz and, long story made short--"

"Not short enough." Came Jackson and Aiden's muttered interruptions...that only succeeded in earning them both a slap on the bicep from Lydia and Erica for their trouble.

"--The physics major calculated that it would take a human a total of 23,034 average slaps to cook a two-pound frozen chicken." Stiles continued as if he hadn't even heard the Beta and former-Alpha's comment, nor their punishment from two of his favorite femme fatales.

"That...is actually quite interesting...and deserving of a test to prove the calculations." Peter said thoughtfully--a decidedly malicious grin on his face as he lightly rubbed his chin. "Did this physics major calculate the speed a slap would need to be to cook the chicken in one hit?"

"Yep. 3725.95 mph apparently...and I wish Mythbusters was still around 'cause I would pay money to see them build a rig to test that."

"The chicken cannon was pretty cool." Boyd said with a small shrug--earning wide-eyed stares from the rest of the pack who genuinely did not believe that Boyd, cool and calm Boyd, would have honestly liked a show that, while informative, also involved copious amounts of explosions. "What?"

Peter and Stiles, however, were in their own world now--dutifully ignoring the pack around them--in favor of contemplating the current 'issue' laid out before them like a glorious buffet of potential mischief that would make a certain Alpha's Eyebrows of Doom do a crazy dance all their own. Finally, Peter closed his laptop. "Stiles...I'll get the whiteboard and markers, you get the frozen chickens--we'll need one for a human to slap and a second for a wolf. We might also need a sheet of plastic...and, of course, two test subjects."

Stiles just smirked--a perfect mirror of Peter's own wicked grin--and turned his gaze down at the gathered pack. "Scott...or should I say 'Test Subject One'?"

Scott let out a tiny whimper. "This...is for last Monday, isn't it?"

…

Hours later, Derek returned home to find the kitchen covered in plastic sheeting, his pack cleaning up--and occasionally eating--bits from a grocery's worth of what smelled like former-frozen chickens, Scott and Jackson both sitting at the bar with their hands in their own respective plastic dishpans of some kind of herb and oil-mixed concoction, Ethan holding Danny's hands to take away his boyfriend's pain, and a whiteboard set up to one side and surrounded by a quickly debating Stiles, Peter, and Lydia.

Stiles was holding what looked like a composition book in his hands, while Peter wrote and erased on the whiteboard, and Lydia rattled off the differences between the average weights, speed, and strength factors between male and female wolves and how they would need to test those variables to have a final answer...to which the pair of mad genius rather loudly agreed with wholeheartedly and began to add into whatever calculations they were doing.

Derek just calmly picked up his keys from the ring that he had hung them on and slowly made his way back out of the front door before practically leaping from the porch to his Camaro.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someone, please...take reddit away from Stiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I believe I saw a request for more insanity?  
> Welp...wish granted.
> 
> Enjoy three scenes of wack-a-doodle brought to you buy fun facts and other insanity I found in my camera roll for inspiration.

"Hey, did you know that dolphins are the stoners of the sea? Have That 70's Show style circles and everything."

Peter blinked--processing what exactly he had heard--as he looked away from the television where he had been watching one of the episodes of Lucifer that he had recorded on the DVR...for research purposes into the character's tactics only of course. He most certainly was not admiring how well Tom Welling had aged since his Smallville days...or how good-looking Tom Ellis was, and anyone who said otherwise could kindly meet the same fate on his claws as Kate Argent. "Elaborate for my curiosity."

"It's on this list I found of 'Fun Facts'." Stiles said from his position in the middle of the Beta-made puppy pile on the floor around the couch that the eldest Hale had been deliriously happy to commandeer and stretch out on. The Spark waved his phone in the air a bit above Isaac's head--the curly-haired pup currently taking up half of the teen's chest...while a certain lizard-wolf was taking up the other. "According to this: Pufferfish release a toxin when they puff up. The toxin's supposed to impair attackers so Puff the Magic Fish can get away."

"Makes sense." Peter mused as the Betas and human-Betas in the puppy pile made various sounds of agreement...some, i.e. Jackson and Aiden, making noises of irritation at having the peace and quiet of the pile disrupted by Stiles'...Stiles-ness, but a few well-placed bicep-slaps from Lydia and Cora handled that bit of grumbling. "But what does that have to do with dolphins?"

"The toxin doesn't affect dolphins like it does other things. Instead, it just give them a high...so dolphins will purposefully inflate any pufferfish they find and then start booping the puffer around like they're passing a big ole' doobie."

"...Why would anyone pass around a piece of poop?" Scott asked as he raised his head up over Isaac's shoulder...only to yelp when Allison smacked him between the shoulder blades at the same time that Jackson said. "Not 'doodie', McCall. 'Doobie'. It's a slang word for a joint."

"...Like a weed joint?" Scott asked as everyone snapped their attention onto the Beta with various expressions of 'you really are that dumb' to 'please tell me you're joking'. Peter breathed out a heavy sigh as he, yet again, internally questioned himself, for the umpteenth time, why exactly his insanity at the time had lead him to bite Scott and not Stiles. "Yes, you ridiculous pup. A marijuana joint."

"Can we get back to watching two hot guys kiss, now?" Erica chimed in from her sprawled-on-top-of-Boyd position as she waved a hand at the screen. "Like, come on...I want to see some sexy."

"Amen." Came Danny's response as he nestled back against Ethan. Stiles opened his mouth--apparently to deliver another 'Fun Fact'...only for Lydia to shove a doughnut from the near demolished box into his mouth. "Chew it slow, Stiles, and keep quiet until after the episode. Peter, hit play."

= = =

Stiles doing a passable impression of one of the hyenas from The Lion King wasn't too odd of an occurrence...even more so since he had found his little 'Fun Facts' list to read...but that didn't mean that the sound didn't occasionally cause a sense of dread in the hearts of the pack. Was it a fear of imminent danger? Yes...if only danger to their sanity, but still.

"Alright, I'm asking...what exactly did you find that has inspired this lovely fit? Something that we might be able to 'test' I hope?" Peter said as he dropped himself onto the couch next to the hysterically giggling teenager. Truly, the 'Dread Zombie Wolf' had only fond memories of their little 'slapping a chicken to cook it' experiment...though he was certain that, should they repeat that lovely incident in order to fully answer the question with all variables accounted for, that Derek might have an aneurysm.  
Or he might actually tear someone's--most likely Peter himself--throat out with his teeth, whichever came first.

Stiles grinned as he looked away from his phone. "Just this historical fact about Ben Franklin nearly killing himself while trying to electrocute a turkey."

Peter paused to process that in a way that would make logical sense, but finding none. "Why exactly did he do that I wonder?"

"Apparently he thought that electrocution would tenderize the meat...which makes zero sense 'cause, cooked properly, turkey's already tender and rippable and all that so--"

"Are you just on a historical section of your list?" Peter interrupted...only because he was not in the mood to discuss proper cooking methods for turkey, otherwise he would demand that they attempt to deep-fry a turkey and, well...the fire department had given the pack a fairly stern warning about doing anything that could be a fire hazard after the 'incident' with the crate of fireworks that had been detonated during a pack training exercise that had gone horribly off the rails when Scott and Jackson had started fighting and...it was honestly better to not think harder on that.  
Lydia and Allison, both, had a tendency to get flinty-eyed if the 'incident' were brought up.

"Oh yeah, tons of stuff. Like this one: "When trains were introduced in the U.S, many people believed that "women's bodies were not designed to go at 50 miles an hour" and that their "uteruses would fly out of their bodies in they were accelerated to that speed"."

As soon as Stiles finished reading off the fact, both 'mad geniuses' had to pause to stare at one another as they processed the sheer stupidity of such a belief. After a moment or two, Peter huffed. "You know...I am honestly surprised that historical women didn't murder every man they knew if all of the men back then were that stupid."

"Different times, different idiots." Stiles said with a small shrug of his shoulders before he slouched back into the couch. "Good news, at least none of the dudes we know are that dumb."

At that, a loud noise came from outside...followed by a certain former-kanima's loud "Goddamnit McCall! I hope Derek forgives you, because your mother sure as shit won't!"

Pete frowned and gave Stiles an even look--raising a brow as if saying _'you were saying?'_...to which Stiles responded with his own eyebrow gymnastics of _'Scott is a special case.'_

"We're good! Erica's out of the windshield!" Came a male voice--possibly Isaac. "Boyd, calm down! Erica's fine! Scott didn't mean it! He was showing me something--!"  
Definitely Isaac...and the loud growl was all Boyd.

As the noises outside condensed into one loud mass of yelling and growling that could possibly be heard down at the sheriff's station, Stiles and Peter shared a pained expression--neither wanting to know what exactly Scott had wanted to show Isaac that had somehow ended in Erica being in the windshield of Scott's mother's car--before the teenager held up a fist. "Rock, paper, scissors for who has to deal with this, Creepy Pete?"

"I'm more of the mindset that we slip out the back door, get in my car, and leave all of them to kill each other." Peter said as the sounds of what was clearly a werefight...and then a certain Alpha's angry roar of: "I was gone for an hour! What happened to Erica?! What happened to Melissa's car?! Why is the picnic table broken?! Where are Stiles and Peter?! They were supposed to be in charge!!"

The duo stared at each other--realizing what both of them had forgotten--then sprung up from the couch and sprinted for the back door not unlike the Dukes of Hazzard.  
Now was the time to answer an age-old question: could Peter's car 'outrun' an enraged Alpha werewolf?

= = =

"You know how they say "you're one in a million"?" Came Stiles' voice from his position on the couch--his shoulders and back on the seat of the couch, while his legs hung over the back. The teenager drummed his fingers on his stomach as he watched Guy Fieri practically 'foodgasm' over some restaurant's signature dish from his new, if not slightly precarious angle.

"A silly sentiment, but go on." Peter said from where he was seated in what he had claimed as 'his' armchair, doing an admirable job of resisting the urge to chuck his laptop across the room as he, yet again, fell victim to the banes of his in-game existence in Stardew Valley. He was honestly tempted to have Danny look at the coding and see what he could do about the issue of Flying Serpent Swarms.  
Honestly, they had a hacker in the pack and it seemed they never utilized him for anything. What a terrible waste that needed to be rectified immediately.

"Well, if we do the math..." Stiles muttered, lips pursed to one side in thought. "...then that means that there are roughly 320 of me and 320 of you in the U.S. alone."

Peter paused in his internal gaming tirade to look up at his fellow 'mad genius'. Without much thought, he sent his character to bed so that he could close out of the game--even if this wasn't going the way that he suspected, an hour long break from the game might do him some good. "...Are you taking this where I think you are?"

"Let's find ourselves, build a couple armies, take over a town or two, and run shit!" Stiles practically yelled before he rolled over...only to tumble off the couch and onto the floor in a heap of flailing limbs. The teenager's grin remained however as he hauled himself to his feet...and only widened as Peter set aside his laptop and stood up. The eldest Hale didn't even bother to hide his own wicked smirk as he went for his coat. "I'll get the car. Should we pick up our dear banshee to further ensure our inevitable victory?"

"Duh, Creeper Wolf. Lydia would never forgive us if we staged a hostile takeover of a few towns without her."

[Spongebob Squarepants-style timecard reading "one hour later"]

If he were honest...Sheriff Stilinski expected to one day see his son in a jail cell--he didn't want it to happen, but he expected it considering his boy's habit of getting into anything and everything. However... "Hale...why did you call, then help, Parrish arrest my son and your crazy undead uncle?"

Derek Hale, Alpha of Beacon Hills and Brooding-Master Extraordinaire, didn't even look away from the duo currently secured in separate cells, with a line of mountain ash barring Peter's and some kind of string-related wards courtesy of a certain overly cryptic veterinarian for Stiles'. "Just trust me when I say that it was for the greater good, sir."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Legit...Tom Welling really has aged well...like DAMN son.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someone ordered an expansion pack?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone mentioned wanting to see an interlude for this scene and...my brain went here.  
> Please enjoy some interlude-y chaos.  
> And my attempt at bringing in Parrish, Chris, and the Sheriff himself.  
> And world building cause let's face it, Derek deserved something nice at the beginning before I raised his blood pressure.

Most people wouldn't think twice about enjoying a pleasant, mid-day nap at home, in the comforts of their own bed.

Most people, however, did not share a house with their "psychotic with narcissistic tendencies"--damn Stiles--uncle who had, more than once, attempted to murder them in one way or another for the family's Alpha Spark like Derek did...yet, the Alpha of Beacon Hills was currently indulging in just that.  
A well-deserved nap.

Why was he so comfortable napping at home despite the aforementioned danger of the house's, current, only other occupant, one might ask?  
Well, the indestructible--thanks to strength-enhancing runes carved into the wood--protection runes carved into the inner portion of the frame of the doorway to his bedroom--bless Stiles--may have been the cause of that.

Sure, he had been suspicious, at first, when he'd seen Stiles running all around the house during the rebuilding process, carving strength and protection runes into the frames wherever he could--and even more so when he'd seen the resident Spark carving these particular runes into his doorframe--but, the reassurance that, thanks to the magic powering the runes throughout the house, there would never be another fire like what Kate had done...that the house would forever be a sanctuary and a fortress to protect the pack, had dispelled any suspicions and many of the Alpha's leftover fears.  
He could have hugged the teenager--actually, he was sure he had, but he didn't remember exactly--for such an immense gift.

The runes on his bedroom doorframe? Oh, they functioned much the same...though with a lovely added bonus that, unless Derek invited someone into his room, and until he told them to get out, the runes would keep anyone from entering the room who was not Derek Hale.  
Or, as Stiles had translated for them all "if Peter or anyone tries to enter uninvited, they'll pretty much get the pain equivalent of a car battery strapped to their genitals and be unable to enter, so you're welcome, Sourwolf".

The kid was a pain in the ass, but he could be pretty damn useful when he wanted to.

However, it was not thoughts on Stiles usefulness that had woken the Alpha. In all honesty, Derek wasn't quite sure what had suddenly woken him up from his nap--he hadn't had a bad dream or anything like that since Stiles had given him, and most everyone in the Pack actually, magic-infused dreamcatchers that he'd made so that they could all have restful sleep.

Derek frowned as he sat up in bed--focusing his senses.  
There were no out of place smells--only the combined scent of the Pack, the girls' perfumes and body sprays, the guys' colognes, the faint aromas from breakfast that morning, Peter's overly expensive coffee...all familiar, warm and comforting.  
There were no other sounds in the house besides Peter downstairs...talking...with Stiles.

Derek shot off of his bed, dashed across his room, and threw open his door in time to hear Stiles' voice saying "--take over a town or two, and run shit!" followed by a noise that could only be Stiles falling to the floor due to flailing about like a wacky waving inflatable arms man outside of a car dealership.

Dread filled Derek, practically bolting him to his spot out on the second-floor landing by the stairs, when he heard his uncle moving, saying something about 'getting the car' and involving Lydia. It took hearing his uncle's car starting before the Alpha snapped himself out of his horror-induced muscle-lock and leapt from the landing--bypassing the staircase all together in his haste to prevent any madness--and sprint out the door onto the porch...just in time to see the gravel spray as the pricey car sped off with Beacon Hills' own Masters of Mayhem inside.

Derek dashed back inside to grab his car keys and cellphone--the first so that he could catch up to the illegally modified racecar masquerading as a sports car, and the latter so that he could call up back up.

As Derek all-but threw himself into his cherished Camaro and sped off after his uncle, the vague thought entered his mind that he should have attempted to grab a shirt and a pair of shoes...but, it's not like the ticket for those would be anything he couldn't handle.

The engine roared to life and the Alpha hit the gas, speeding down the drive and out onto the road to chase down the car that, unfortunately, had a headstart on him. As he rounded a sharp curve, he pulled up his cellphone to call in the cavalry.

 _"What's the crisis of the day, Derek?"_ Came the hellhound's calm voice over the phone line. Then... _"Are you calling me while driving again?"_

"Yes, because I'm in pursuit of my uncle and Stiles. They're on their way to Lydia's. Apparently they're gonna stage a hostile takeover of several towns."

There was a pause on the line as Jordan Parrish ran those sentences through his mind--testing different ways and inflections of saying them in an attempt to make the whole thing make some form of sense...before deciding that if Peter Hale and Stiles Stilinski were both involved, sense had clearly taken a flying leap out of a window without so much as a backward glance.

_"Should I tell the Sheriff about this? Put out an APB or something?"_

"It's Peter and Stiles...not only will it embarrass the Sheriff, but Peter'd probably do anything and everything to humiliate the Sheriff's department." Derek growled out under his breath--he refused to let anything with his Pack endanger the Sheriff's job again. "Look, just grab your car and help me try to cut them off before they reach Lydia."

 _"And if we cut them off and get them out of the car, they will probably run."_ Was all the hellhound said, but Derek could pick up the subtle sounds of the deputy discreetly leaving his desk to head outside to his cruiser. _"May I suggest calling in the rest of the pack?"_

"...Stiles would probably talk them into helping. Hell...that will be what happens if the Pack shows up and those two had recruited Lydia."

 _"Then..."_ A car door shut and an engine turned over. _"What about Argent?"_

As much as Derek didn't want to involve the Hunter...Chris Argent would probably be a huge help in this debacle.  
Though, he would probably give them all the 'Disappointed Dad Glare of Judging Every Life Choice You Ever Made'...but Derek could live with that. The Hunter's version of that particular glare was nothing compared to the Sheriff or Melissa McCall's versions.  
Their versions made him want to whine and bare his throat in submission in all honesty.

"I'll call him. Just go."

After an affirmative from Parrish, the call ended and Derek practically floored his gas pedal as he tried to keep the sports car in view. He brushed his thumb over the number on his speed dial, internally bracing himself for what he was about to do.

= [one phone call later and epic car chase later] =

As the SUV came to a stop on the stretch of road near the abandoned portion of the warehouse district, Chris Argent could only question his own life choices. He hadn't been expecting to receive a phone call from Derek Hale, requesting his assistance in non-lethally stopping Peter and Stiles from doing insanity, but that didn't exactly mean that he was happy about the fact that he had agreed.  
Hell, he had even pulled Marilyn out of her storage case since she was his favorite non-lethal hunting option.

As Chris climbed out of his car, he took in the sight in front of him that was the partially-shifted Alpha of Beacon Hills, in only a pair of sweatpants, and a fully uniformed hellhound sheriff's deputy chasing a partially-shifted 'zombie wolf' around a fancy sports car, that was currently pinned between a sheriff cruiser and the infamous Camaro, like some kind of demented game of 'ring-around-the-car-crash-scene'...that rapidly devolved into 'pop-goes-the-Stiles' as said-Spark occasionally popped out from between the cars to hurl some manner of magic at their pursuers in attempt to keep said-'zombie wolf' from getting caught.

Chris took a deep breath as he calmly pulled Marilyn from her place on the backseat of the SUV. The Hunter rolled his neck and walked a few feet away from his car, hoisting the weapon that looked like the unholy combination of a bazooka and a crossbow, up onto one shoulder as he took aim at the sprinting Peter Hale.  
Derek was going to owe him a bottle of good bourbon for this.

"Gotcha." Was all he said as he pulled the trigger and Marilyn let fly...and Peter Hale was taken down and pinned to the ground under a large net that had now stake itself into the pavement, said-wolf twitching and growling beneath the mild electric shocks from the net.

"What the actual--?!" Was all Stiles got out before he was tackled down onto the hood of the sheriff's cruiser by Derek who proceeded to wrestle the teenager into submission as Parrish slowed his run to trot over to Peter and see if the older man was at least somewhat alright.

Chris, however, just rolled his eyes in exasperation--and maybe a touch of amusement--before he shifted Marilyn to lay across his shoulders and walked over to look down at Peter. "Parrish...call Deaton, would you? We'll need him to help secure these two in separate jail cells."

The deputy in question merely nodded--ignoring Derek's scandalized and indignant cry of "did you fucking bite me?!" from near the cars. Chris, however, took the opportunity to crouch down and tap Peter's head--which was not under the netting--with a finger. Peter twisted his head to growl at the Hunter who merely let an evil smirk overtake his face.

"You know...I've wanted to do this for a while."

"Argent, don't you dare--" Was all that Peter got out before Chris set his weapon down, placed both hands on Peter's head, and proceeded to utterly ruin his carefully coiffed hair style and leave the irate and protesting wolf with a case of 'crazy hair' to rival Doc Brown's.

Later, after Chris had gone home with a satisfied smirk after helping Parrish and Derek secure the two 'mad geniuses' in their cells at the sheriff's station--and Deaton had come in the actually secure the two cells so that Stiles couldn't simply use his magic to break them both out--Sheriff Stilinski made the mistake of wandering back into the area with the two cells, and...well, we all know the rest of the story, so let's spare that retelling...

...For the greater good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chris has to have some fun toys in his arsenal that he never gets to play with.


End file.
